Author's Note: I fudged the map of Denerim a tiny bit for this chapter. 'The Dregs' is a section of Denerim where the lowest class lives in near squalor- it's named in the DA Table Top RPG, Blood of Ferelden. It borders the Market District right up to the Docks, and I imagine the Alienage is pretty darn close. (What better place to keep your poor elves than right next to your poor humans?)

Chapter 72 - Captured

Serena awoke to a chill that felt like it was intending to creep inside her bones. Her body felt heavy, injured, like every inch of her was bruised. Her muscles protested as she pulled her upper body up from the rough stone floor.

Floor? She glanced around through blurry eyes. Cell. She was in a cell. Howe's dungeon then? No... Cauthrien... Serena remembered the tight-lipped woman and her too large great sword. She resisted the growing urge to let out a solid stream of expletives. Loghain's simpleton of a lackey wasn't even worth the breath it would take to utter them.

One hand went to her head, just above her beck, where a large knot had formed. It ached to touch it, and she could feel the dried blood that clotted on her skin and in her hair, making the strands of auburn thick and lumpy. She must have taken the pommel of that damn sword to her head.

"I was hoping you would wake up soon, I was beginning to worry." Alistair's voice was hoarse, as if he'd been shouting a great deal. He pulled a thin blanket from around him and placed it over Serena's shoulders. It was then she realized they were missing their weapons, their packs... their clothes. The cell was empty except for them, the blanket and two rotted mattresses strewn about the floor.

"Ah, yes," Alistair muttered, his cheeks blushing pink. "It's a good thing you were out for that. They... stripped us both bare. After our fair share of beatings, of course." He held out a hand expansively. "Lovely, isn't it?"

"How long was I out? Where are the others? Alim? Fergus?"

"Alim and Morrigan were captured along with us; Fergus got out with Zevran. I bet Anora is with them." He frowned. "It's unfortunate she wasn't lost in the fight... Or beaten with a stick."

"Bitch," Serena growled, pulling the blanket as tight as she could as she leaned against Alistair.

"I'll second that."

"So Alim and Morrigan are here?" Serena looked through the bars of the cell they were in. The cell to the left was empty. The cell to the right held a pile of rags that had formerly been a man, she assumed.

"They were here," Alistair said. "The guards didn't know, or didn't care, they were mages, so they threw them in there. Morrigan promptly changed into a bird and flew out the window. Alim didn't want to leave us, but I ordered him to go. That was about an hour ago... You've been out for the better part of a day, I'd guess, if that tiny window is any indication, anyway."

He pushed a small bowl towards her, filled with crusts. The sound of scraping stonework made Serena's head pound, but it was easily counteracted by the drag in her belly. If she'd been out for hours, then she'd missed at least two meals. Her stomach whined.

"I saved these for you, and Alim gave me theirs, too, so it should help... The guard didn't want me to keep them if you... but I insisted." There was a note of pride in his voice. "Used my princely charms, you know. Along with a few well-placed threats I learned from you."

Serena scooted closer, wrapping the blanket around them both as she stuffed the bits of bread in her mouth. He was warm, despite the cool winter air that seeped in through that tiny window, and the multitude of cracks in the walls.

"You were right to send him back." Serena sighed, looking wistfully into the now empty bowl, wishing she could eat the crumbs left littering the bottom of the earthenware. "We're in Fort Drakon, aren't we?"

"Yes. The lower dungeons." Alistair's grin was utterly sardonic. "For political prisoners."

"So much for keeping the Warden's neutral," Serena murmured. She put a hand to her head again, searching the clumps of hair for any of her hair pins. "Maker, please," she whispered. There was one, caught in a disgusting glob of dried blood, and she prayed the lock wasn't a complicated one.

"I hope you weren't becoming too fond of this place."

Alistair raised an eyebrow. "I could be done of it soon, certainly." He glanced at the pin idling in her hand. "Does my dear little wife have a plan?"

"We're busting out, love."

"Eamon! We have a problem!"

Morrigan had arrived moments before Alim, her face set in tight lines of anger and mistrust. He hadn't known her terribly long, but he liked to think he knew her well, and she was silently fuming over the queen's betrayal of them all. He imagined she wouldn't stay so silent for long.

The fact that Anora had somehow slipped Cauthrien's close watch and arrived here, unscathed, spoke volumes. Though of what, Alim wasn't quite sure yet. The queen was proving to be as slippery as a snake, and as deadly. Serena and Alistair were still captured in Fort Drakon. He would still be there, too, if Alistair hadn't practically pushed him out the door.

"You can fly!" he had yelled, flinging a hand through the cell bars. "I can't go anywhere, not with her like this. Go! Get Eamon! Get the others! Alim, just go!" Alim had changed then, his hawk form coming easily now, and escaped out of the small window near the top of the dungeons. Morrigan had been circling the sky, waiting for him, though he knew she would never admit it.

They had practically raced back to the arl's estate, where they found Wynne and Leliana tending to the injured elves and other prisoners they'd rescued. Anora had arrived at Eamon's just minutes after Alim and Morrigan, her face flushed, and her obnoxious handmaiden in tow. Alim turned, refocusing on the conversation happening before him.

"Calm down, calm down." The arl held a steady hand out, his eyes flipping between the group of them, obviously searching for their missing fellows. "Where is... what has happened?"

There was a long pause before Anora spoke next. "The Wardens have been captured."

"How... how could this have happened?"

"Never mind that," Anora said briskly. "The question is how to free her."

Eamon frowned. "Surely you mean them, your Highness? We need Alistair, too."

"Alim and myself were also captured, no thanks to her Highness," Morrigan said acidly. "When confronted in Howe's estate, she turned us over to that mousy-haired Cauthrien woman, claiming we'd kidnapped her!"

"Is that true, Anora?"

"I panicked," the queen replied, her eyes darting about the room. Perhaps she was sensing the turning tide against her? Alim dared to hope she had that much sense. "I told Serena not to reveal me, Howe's people... my father's... it was entirely too dangerous... I could have been killed!"

"And so when the going got tough, you thought it best to throw us to the dogs?" Zevran had joined the group, Fergus with him. Both were staring daggers at Anora's back. "I just barely got Teyrn Fergus out of that viper's nest with his head intact."

"I apologize for putting you all in danger, but the good news is we're out. Unfortunately, the Wardens are not." Anora straightened her shoulders defiantly, as if willing them to say more. When they didn't, she continued. Alim hoped she didn't think that meant she'd somehow won. "Cauthrien will have taken them to Fort Drakon. Getting in, however, will be no small feat..."

"Alim and I escaped from there, we could just as easily slip back in."

"And how did you manage that, might I ask?" Anora turned to them, finally, her expression curious. "How is it you didn't get Serena or Alistair out?"

"They aren't mages," Alim said, stepping to stand between Morrigan and the queen. He could read clearly on the witch's face if the queen continued to provoke her, she would have a few beautiful new scars courtesy of some stray lightning bolts. "Morrigan and I flew out of the window."

Anora raised a perfect blonde eyebrow. "You flew."

"Are you deaf? Or just willfully ignorant?" Morrigan threw out her arms and changed, her golden eyes keeping their tense look on the icy blonde. Her small crow body hopped around the floor once before flitting up to perch on Alim's shoulder. The crow sqawked loudly at the queen and Alim winced, his elven hearing getting the brunt of the blast.

"We flew," Alim repeated needlessly. Arl Eamon rolled his eyes discreetly from behind the queen, a small smile playing about his lips.

"I see," Anora said tightly, her cold blue eyes locked on Morrigan-the-crow. "As I said, no easy feat, since the majority of us cannot turn into birds."

"A pity, that," Eamon murmured. "If you'll leave us to it, Anora, I'll draw up a rescue plan with my friends here." It was a clear dismissal, and Alim saw the queen knew it. Her nose flared once before she turned on her heel and left the room, her dress robes swishing gently behind her.

The chamber filled with screams. The guard, who had spent most of the last two hours pacing directly in front of their cell, had disappeared for the moment.

"Off helping them carry the bodies, I bet," Alistair muttered. "If I'm made king, we're remodeling this place, from the ground up."

Serena snorted, working her hair pin in the lock as quickly as her bruised fingers could manage. "But the torture racks do so much for the decor, love." Another high-pitched wail pierced the air and they exchanged a panicked look. "Nevermind. You're right. They have to go. The blood splatter just clashes with... with everything."

"Not to rush you, love, but that guard could come back any second..."

"I know, I know, it's just, I need another..." Serena shoved her finger in the lock, her face a grimace. The metal dragged against her skin as she pressed up, and the lock clicked open. "Okay, here we go. There's a mabari down there, too, and I think I can... I think I can cause a stir."

"You have a plan?"

"I wouldn't say it's so much a plan as it is a... a proposal." Serena closed her eyes, concentrating on the mabari signature she sensed in the torture pit beyond their tiny cell. The dog was well trained, and he pressed against her influence, but the temptation to obey to her, in the end, was too strong. The hound went wild, barking like mad and streaking up the stairs and out the large door at the end.

Two guards started after the dog, shouting curses while the third, the man who had been pacing in front of their cell, called out. "You catch that mutt, eh, men? I'll just stay here, got to watch the prisoners and all."

"Lazy bastard," Serena muttered. "Figures he would stick around." She banged on the now unlocked door hard with the flat of her hand. "Oh, Maker, make it stop, make it stop!"

"What are you doing?" Alistair whispered. "You're going to bring that lout over here."

"That's the bloody point." Serena clutched at her side and felt a bruised rib respond unexpectedly. The wail she let out was real. "Ohhhh... Maker... help!"

"Ser! Ser! You have to help me, my friend here..." Alistair ran up to the bars of the cell, sticking his arms through and waving them frantically. Serena was glad he'd caught on quickly as she pressed another rib and nearly screamed.

"Please, ser, help us!" Alistair pleaded. "Help me! She's dying! She's dying!" Serena could hear the note of real fear in his voice as she screamed again, doubling over in pain. She wished Wynne were here. These busted ribs weren't going to heal themselves.

"If you're not bleeding, I don't care!" the guard yelled.

"She is, though! She's bleeding, oh Maker, it's coming out of her mouth..." Alistair pulled Serena near the door, positioning her just behind it so the guard couldn't see her without coming inside.

"Blood out the mouth? Let me see..."The stubbly-faced guard pulled open the unlocked door, his eyes wide. "What the bleeding hell...?" Alistair pulled his fist back and landed it square in his face as the guard spun, his head twisting to the side. Alistair swung again, pushing the guard over Serena's huddled form where he fell back in a heap and didn't move.

"Oh, well, not exactly what I was thinking, but... that works, too." Serena put a hand to the man's throat, checking for a pulse. He was knocked out, his breath ragged. "We won't have much time. Let's find our gear, get whoever they're messing with downstairs, and get the bloody hell out of here!"

It had snowed since they had been dragged into Fort Drakon, Alistair thought. Small drifts of white, powdery fluff, like cold cotton, piled up on the side streets as their boots crunched along. It must have been nearing midnight; many of the lanterns were out already, the oil in them long since burned out.

"We can't go to Eamon's," Serena murmured. "Not yet. Not tonight." She was in pain, Alistair could tell, as she practically limped along through Denerim's back alleys. Between them they supported a very weak blonde haired man that Alistair had recognized from Ostagar, one of Cailan's honor guard. He was badly injured, having been set in shackles and hung on the wall like a slab of meat. Serena had insisted on bringing him with them, even though it had nearly gotten them killed, twice, while they snuck out of the fort.

As it was, Serena had taken a punch to the stomach in a scuffle near the fort's exit as she protected Ser Henry. Alistair had nearly been skewered himself, but his father's sword hadn't failed him yet, and he'd drove it deep in the guard who'd tried to take him out.

"If we aren't going to Eamon's, where are we going?" Wherever it was, he was hoping it was close. The cold was starting to cause his various bumps and bruises to ache painfully. He needed rest, and real food.

"The Dregs."

"The Dregs," Alistair repeated, numb. "We're going to the Dregs."

"Yes."

"We're going to the Dregs."

"Yes," Serena said. Her voice held just the slightest hint of exasperation. "Just for the rest of the night, then we'll make it to Eamon's in the morning."

"Why can't we just go there now?"

"Because Loghain will have men waiting for us there, surely. It's not safe to implement Eamon in our supposed kidnapping of Anora-"

"I wouldn't be surprised if she's there already."

"Or our breakout from Drakon," Serena continued. "Poor Ser Henry could use some sleep, too, I'm sure." At her mention of him, the battered knight sighed pathetically. His right leg was practically dragging along the snowy cobbles.

"Of course we get the first snow when we're locked up," Alistair grumbled. "So, I don't suppose you have a place to stay, in the Dregs?"

"Zevran told me of a place, actually. He stayed at an inn, he said, just on the outskirts of the docks. We have plenty of coin between us, and they won't ask questions." Serena readjusted the knight on her shoulder, her face twitching in pain. "We'll blend in, get some sleep, get some food... we'll be back at Eamon's before you know it."

"Because the rest of the plan has gone so well."

"Have faith, brother." Ser Henry coughed uncomfortably from between Alistair and Serena. "If not... for you two... I'd be lying dead... right now. Every... every moment is... is a gift."

There was a long pause and Alistair felt shame redden his cheeks. They didn't speak again until they'd reached the Dregs, the poorest section of Denerim, only slightest more kept up than the elven Alienage. The tiny inn Serena led them to looked like it had been through hell, but taking Henry's words to heart, Alistair simply shook his head, helping the blonde man up the stairs while Serena took care of their expenses for the evening.

"At least the pillows are soft," he whispered.

"Small mercies," Serena mumbled, snuggling into his shoulder as she closed her eyes.

"Tell me you found them." Arl Eamon stood up from his desk, his alert eyes focused on their new guest. "Tell me that you found something."

Zevran shook his head, frowning. "No, m'lord. Alim flew back to the fort, but it was covered in guards. It would appear they escaped on their own. We tried to track them through the snow, but even Serena's mabari lost the scent after we arrived in the Market District."

"The Market District?" Anora sat back, her blonde braids were still perfect, her makeup expertly done. She certainly hadn't lost any sleep over the missing Wardens. "If they made it all the way there, why not just come back to this estate?"

"They're in hiding, I would guess," Zevran replied, but to Eamon. All of the companions had made a pact to otherwise ignore the queen, unless she specifically addressed one of them. "Even with Howe dead, Loghain's people have been spotted roaming the Market District and the docks, looking rather dubious. This also came, addressed to Teyrn Fergus." He passed the letter to the arl, who read it quickly.

Zevran had already memorized the words. A note from 'Master Bryceson'; Serena's brother had explained it had really come from a contact of theirs in the city guard. Loghain had put them on high alert, and wanted posters were set to go up in the morning with Serena and Alistair's likenesses on them, as long as another man's, a Ser Henry. Another escapee from Fort Drakon, Fergus had explained. He had met him briefly at Ostagar before he'd been lost in the Wilds.

The posters held a reward for 500 sovereigns, an enormous sum to any person, even other nobles, for solid information leading to the apprehension of the 'political dissidents and rogue fugitives' whose picture the parchment carried. The guard was ordered to capture them first, but if that proved difficult...

"I see. Well, this certainly complicates things." The older man folded up the note and handed it back to Zevran. The elf resisted the urge to chuckle as Anora's cold blue eyes followed the parchment as it disappeared in his belt pouch, envy written all over her face.

"Well, it's nearing closer to the morning than the evening, anyway. I suppose we cannot expect them to waltz into the estate tonight." Eamon sighed, running a hand through his hair, mussing the neat braids just a bit. "Get some rest, and we'll set out in the morning to look for signs of them. Goodnight all." With a curt nod to Anora and a warmer one to Zevran, the arl exited the room.

"You." Anora's voice was tight with a suppressed emotion, and the assassin longed to know what it was as her eyes snapped quickly to the door and back to Zevran's. "A word?"

Did that count? Zevran wondered distractedly as he paused at the doorway. It wasn't a direct address, surely, being referred to as 'you'. He turned his head to indicate he was listening. He would not give her any more than that. She certainly deserved even less.

"Regardless of what my father may or may not of done, I'll have you know I'm still queen of this land. I understand you bare a close... association with Lady Serena and... Prince Alistair, but I still deserve to be obeyed." She paused, seeming to come to the realization that she wasn't winning any friends by taking the more domineering approach. "I want us to get along, and work together to... dispose my father, if possible."

"If I may speak freely, your Highness?"

Anora frowned, waving a hand absently. "You may."

"I rather think you should count yourself lucky Serena has the evening away from you to cool her temper. Your father's intentions towards you should be the very last of your worries."